


When the Helmet is Removed

by Pinkninja



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Disability, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkninja/pseuds/Pinkninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles escapes into Erik's dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Helmet is Removed

They must be in similar timezones now; Charles can almost _feel_ the metal helmet being lifted from the other man's head as the mantelpiece clock in Charles' study strikes one in the morning.

 

The students had already retired, except for Ororo, who curls up by the largest window in the dormitories and is softly singing to herself. Charles touches her mind gently.

 

_You should return to bed, little one._

 

The young girl leaps from the window seat and is under the covers without even touching the floor. She buries her face in her quilt and tries to ignore her rapidly beating heart.

 

‘’night, Professor.’ She whispers.

 

Charles chuckles a little. _Good night, Ororo_.

 

Ororo’s mind settles as she waited for sleep, and thousands of miles away, another mind, more familiar than any other, starts slipping into unconsciousness. Erik’s exhaustion is almost a physical presence, weighing heavy in the back of Charles’ mind.

 

Charles finishes reading Alex’s essay and places two fingers at his temple, more from an attempt stave off the rapidly approaching headache than to reach out with his powers. He wheels himself back from his desk, appreciating his own foresight in changing into his pyjamas earlier in the evening.

 

His bed had been adjusted to the height of his wheelchair, making it easier for him to get in and out, and was always made with the sheets turned down. He grips the arms of his chair and lifts off the seat, swivelling the bottom half of his body around to rest on the edge of the bed. It is a struggle, every night, every morning.

 

Lying down takes more shuffling and shifting, Charles has to grip and manually move his useless legs to slide under the covers. It isn’t until he lies down with his head resting on the pillow that he remembers his slippers are still on his feet.

 

He curses himself and his loss of feeling, but is too exhausted to do anything about it. Charles lets his eyes slide closed and his mind reaches out almost instinctively, searching for that point hundreds of miles away. A heavily sleeping mind surrounded by cold metal.

 

Charles slips into Erik’s mind, his dreams lapping like waves in his subconscious. Where Charles’ life is work and routine, Erik’s dreams are passionate, they have momentum and power.

 

Charles always finds his way back here, back to this borrowed brightest spot.

 

Because in Erik’s dreams, he _walks._


End file.
